


Ticks

by tinsnip



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien anatomy, Cardassians, Established Relationship, Flirting, Kissing, M/M, Porn With Very Little Plot, speculative reproductive xenobiology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-14 11:01:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinsnip/pseuds/tinsnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cardassian cultural studies are much more fun when accompanied by the occasional field trip. And field trips are much more fun when learning is interspersed with time to play...</p><p>Elim Garak and Julian Bashir get frisky in a holosuite. Very light, very chatty (Garak POV, and he does love to talk!). Approached from a Cardassian viewpoint. Translations incorporated as hovertext. Have fun!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a late-night drive home, listening to Brad Paisley's ["Ticks"](https://itunes.apple.com/ca/album/ticks-single/id219375821). Lovely, sexy little song. If you like it, buy it!  
> I have no rights to either the song or the characters. This is all just for fun.

_every time you take a sip in this smoky atmosphere_   
_you press that bottle to your lips, and i wish i was your beer_   
_and in the small there of your back, your jeans are playing peekaboo_   
_i’d like to see the other half of your butterfly tattoo_   
_hey, that gives me an idea – let’s get out of this bar_   
_drive out into the country and find a place to park_

_* * *_

The air in Quark’s was thick, drifting, heavily laden with smoke.

It wasn’t unpleasant. Quite the opposite, in fact. The Versethi smoke-dancer Quark had hired to entertain was doing a marvellous job, weaving his way through the bar, leaving in his wake wafts of perfumed, slightly intoxicating smoke. Its effect was pleasantly stimulating, and the happy patrons he graced with a table visit found themselves enlivened, grinning, and suddenly really very interested in dabo.

Garak watched the dancer moving from table to table, puffing his pipe, its long stem gushing vents of coloured cloud that settled here and there; he was a pretty fellow, certainly, and his art was aesthetically pleasing, _yes,_ but if the truth were to be unavoidably told, the smoke-dancer was really more of an irritation than a pleasure at this point...

_I can’t see!_

He sat at his table under the stairs, glass of kanar in hand, watching, and while his vantage point had originally been chosen for its excellent view of the door and its equally excellent shadowy setting, only one of those criteria still applied. The smoke-dancer’s stock in trade was obscuring his vision; as the atmosphere became increasingly hazy, so did his line of sight, and now he found himself peering, eyes narrowed. _Where is he? Will I—_

_Ah..._

Oh, he hadn’t wanted to miss this, that first sight of him; as Julian entered the bar, Garak watched, cataloguing, delighting, drifting. _He’s early. How flattering. But I am earlier..._

Long-limbed and lovely, casually dressed, _such_ a treat – that uniform was an absolute shame on the doctor’s trim body – and now he was scanning the bar, seeking, not finding, _good,_ perhaps the smoke was working to Garak’s advantage as well as to his detriment. Hmm, now he was turning to Quark, ordering something... Ah, a beer, of course; now Quark was handing him the mug, filled and frothy, and Julian was smiling thanks, settling himself on one of the barstools—

_Oh! Oh, my!_

He’d wanted to watch, yes, he’d wanted to observe, but he hadn’t expected to _stare._ That outfit, though:  really, it left him no choice. Julian Bashir had, for once, gotten his sartorial selections very, very right. He’d chosen dark trousers, paired with a creamy Bajoran-style tunic that skimmed close to his body, and – oh, dear – the tunic was actually very much on-trend, incorporating the little criss-cross of fabric at the small of the back that was suddenly ubiquitous station-wide. It was both subtle and salacious, and quite well-designed; goodness, it was truly something to see, the way that soft latticework weave moved with its wearer, allowing flashing glimpses of skin...

He admired the style, actually. It would very much suit a Cardassian; it would highlight the soft, fine scaling usually left unseen. It would be just enough to tantalize, not enough to be obvious.

On Julian, though, with his arms resting on the bar and his back curved so charmingly, it was positively scandalous. It was a klaxon blaring, a siren flashing, _look at me, look at me!_

Surely Garak couldn’t be blamed for staring. Really, it was a bit much for a public place, wasn’t it? That hint of skin, tan and smooth, visible one moment, hidden the next, as the doctor swivelled his barstool back and forth...

His mouth was open. He closed it with a snap, and scolded his eager so’c. _He is halfway across the bar. All you’ll get is smoke._

Really, though, the man was too captivating... Could it be that he didn’t know the effect that outfit would have? It was very nearly an open invitation to touch, let alone to stare...

Wasn’t it?

Or... _Perhaps it’s only me?_ Oh, dear, that would be a pity; it was a good thing he’d chosen this well-camouflaged seat, wasn’t it. He certainly wouldn’t want anyone to see him gaping... _But I can’t be the only one looking at him._

He risked looking away to dart a quick glance around the bar, assessing through the smoke-filled air, and was both reassured and mildly irritated by the discovery that no, he was not the only one noticing the doctor. Here was a dabo girl, eyes wide, briefly distracted from her latinum; there was a patron, swirling his drink softly in its glass and devouring the Human with his eyes; oh, honestly, even Ensign Vilix’pran was casting him a considering wave of antennae, wings fluttering softly.

 _Well, he’s not here for any of you._ He smiled to himself.

He turned his attention back to the bar, and now Julian had turned himself around, his back to the bar; he was looking over the crowd once again, searching. Garak watched, entranced, as he frowned impatiently, brows flicking down. It was so strange, how easily Human faces could be read. Really, there was no disguise at all on those features, no shield to prevent every inner thought from flashing to the surface. _Or perhaps that’s just him._ And it charmed him, he had to admit; the younger man seemed so guileless...

_Well, you know better, don’t you, Elim? He could out-think you without even trying..._

Mmm, and yet he didn’t seem to want to, he really rather seemed to prefer to let Garak play the role of teacher while he played eager student. Garak was not at all inclined to complain, especially with the turn the latest lessons had taken... _Oh, dear me, no;_ his eyelids fluttered low as he remembered, and now he thought perhaps his smile was showing teeth.

Now Julian rapped his fingers against his mug, set it down on the bar and leaned back, his posture open. He rocked his head back and forth, stretching his neck, working the muscles, releasing tension, and once again Garak found his lips parting, his tongue slipping to the corner of his mouth; he sipped the air, and was that perhaps a hint of Julian? Could it be? _Too far, not possible,_ and yet he recognized that flavour, he could swear he did...

It was a bit foolish, wasn’t it, to still be sitting here? He really should be standing up, approaching the doctor, saying something charming. Instead he was still looking, savouring the sensation of being unseen. Observing his target had always been something he’d truly enjoyed: the study of movements, the calculation of how best to approach... and yet he wasn’t really on his best form at this moment, was he? He wasn’t focussed. He wasn’t alert. No, he was captivated, he couldn’t have looked away if he’d wanted to, and oh, no, now Julian was raising his mug to his lips and taking a long drink of his beer; when he lowered the mug, a little fleck of foam was caught on his upper lip – lucky foam – and now, now Julian’s tongue flicked up to find it, _oh_ , Garak shifted in his seat, hand tightening on his glass of kanar, holding his breath—

And Julian looked over at him, directly _at him,_ and smiled.

_Oh, you little tease._

He’d known. The man had known all along. Little mercies, he could bloom right here at the table.

_Control, Elim!_

For a little while longer, at least—

Well, this particular round of the game was over; he swallowed the last gulp of his kanar, stood, and made his way through the crowded bar to Julian. The doctor blinked lazily as he approached.

“Good evening, Garak. You’re early tonight, I see.”

“As are you, Doctor.”

“Mmm.” Julian brushed that away. “I just wanted a chance to relax and have a beer before we tour yet another tourist hotspot of Cardassia Prime. It’s rather warm on your planet, you know.”

“I am delightfully aware, yes. I _have_ offered to adjust the temperature to something more to your liking—”

“Ah, but then it wouldn’t really be Cardassia, would it?”

Garak tilted his head, conceding the point, and Julian smiled at him, flashing white teeth. “So, since we both prefer authenticity, I _will_ be needing this. Excuse me a moment.” He tilted his head back to finish the last of his beer, and oh, he had to know how that would expose his throat, and how Garak would have to drag his gaze away to keep from being obvious. Really, the hollow of his neck was so vulnerable, so soft; the doctor was far too lovely for his own good. He was all willowy limbs and pliant beauty, and yet he was so completely able to defend himself, so fearless, heedless of his own delicate frame – the combination was intoxicating—

 _Stop it, Elim._ Goodness, he was rhapsodizing. Foolish and unnecessary; an indulgence that really couldn’t be tolerated.

 _It is rather pleasant, though, isn’t it?_ And inside him something thrummed, _soon..._

Julian sighed happily and set his mug down on the bar with a thump. He met Garak’s eyes, expression amused. “Thank you for your patience, Garak. I know how you hate to wait.” Oh, a little dig – the man really was a tease.

“Shall we, Doctor?”

“By all means, Garak. Lead on.”


	2. Chapter 2

_i know the perfect little path, out in these woods i used to hunt_  
 _don’t worry, babe; i’ve got your back (and i’ve also got your front)_  
 _i’d hate to waste a night like this - i’ll keep you safe, you wait and see_  
 _the only thing allowed to crawl all over you when we get there is me_  
 _you know every guy in here tonight would like to take you home_  
 _but i’ve got way more class than them, babe; that ain’t what i want_

_* * *_

The starscape glowed over them, the Taluvian Constellation pulsing rhythmically; the three moons were bright with reflected brilliance, and so the grasslands were thrown into sharp relief. A breeze teased the tall red grasses, and they bowed gently before its will, their soft-bladed leaves touching ground; when they sprang up again, a susurration ran through the night, a gentle hissing. Garak heard it, and remembered, and smiled.

“So where are we tonight?” Julian’s voice was curious and low; he was almost whispering, and that was really rather funny. There _was_ something about the night, though, about the hush of the grasses, that seemed to call for a certain respectful quiet...

Garak could be very quiet, when the mood took him. Julian wasn’t quite as good at it. Ah, well. The grasses would survive. _Soon..._

For now, they walked through the grasses, and the noise of their passing added yet another layer of whispering to the noise around them. Here and there, tufted bushes pushed up through the sea of grass, twisting their branches very nearly as high as Garak’s shoulders. The small yellow flowers that adorned their limbs perfumed the air. Their true-taste drifted, sweet and thin; it reached his so’c as a sparkle, lighting his mind. _Ah..._

“Tonight, my dear doctor, we are visiting the desert borderlands near Cardassia City.”

“This doesn’t look much like desert.” Julian glanced around, his eyes glinting in the moonslight.

“It isn’t, yet, not for quite some distance. We are in the border of thick scrub that surrounds the desert itself. The vegetation here is quite hardy.”

“Not much to sustain it, I imagine.”

“Indeed. The plants must make do with very little. The soil is extremely poor.”

Julian nodded at that, taking it in. He looked over at Garak. “And how does the fauna manage?”

“Excuse me?”

“Anything hostile I should watch out for? Perhaps, oh, toads with fangs?”

 _Ah._ He was still upset about that, was he?

Well, it _had_ been a trifle unexpected, but surely Julian could not hold him accountable for every little vagary of a simulation? At any rate, Julian’s reaction had most definitely been an over-reaction. Still, patience was probably called for. “As I’ve explained before, Doctor, the zabU would not have hurt you. It does not like warm meat.”

“Fish only. Right. And that’s why it has six-inch fangs. Garak, I don’t think I trust you on that one.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Julian snorted at that, and Garak allowed himself a small smile. “Don’t worry, my dear. If anything here _does_ decide it would like to know how Human tastes, I will defend you.” Anything aside from him, that was; _ah, soon..._

“You are too kind.” The smile Julian flashed at him was sharp-edged, and Garak’s own smile widened. For a brief moment their eyes met, and Garak thought he saw something in Julian’s gaze, something that tugged at him; his hands twitched—

But apparently soon wasn’t quite now; Julian looked away, out over the grasslands to the dunes just visible in the distance, then back to the lights of Cardassia City shining far behind them. “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it.”

“Mmm. This area is considered something of a protectorate, these days. No one who proposes development in this area ever seems to be able to complete their dealings, somehow...”

A frown. “Somehow?”

Garak shrugged, smiled. “It is a mystery.”

That pulled a wry smile from the doctor, and a nod of acknowledgement. Ah, really, it was _so_ pleasant, the way Julian was truly beginning to understand how Cardassia functioned. There was a great deal more for him to learn, though; the two of them were overdue for a good discussion on the topic. The recent fascinatingly physical turn in their relationship had rather distracted them both from the more mental aspects – not that this was in any way something to lament. Still, there was so much to discuss – or perhaps he could lend Julian something to read and think about, something that could be chewed over at length... hmm, **Shadows Over Kardasi’or** might be appropriate—

He was walking next to a beautiful young man on a warm, flower-scented night, and he was thinking of how best to educate said young man on political process.

_Elim Garak, you are getting old. Re-direct yourself._

No sooner thought than done; he let himself look at Julian, at his features glowing softly under moonslight, at how the blossoms of the f’Irit around them set off the slight golden highlights of his skin, and all thoughts of political discussion fled, quite forgotten.

 _Shall I touch him? Mmm, not yet..._ Ah, the delights of delayed gratification...

They walked on, the night air warm around them. Julian wiped his brow, the sheen of sweat on his skin making it glisten; Garak watched, and thought of both past and future, memories circling in his mind.

Now there was a frown on Julian’s face, barely noticeable but definitely there. He looked over at Garak. “You want to show-case this place for me, right?”

“That is the general idea, yes.” _One of many._

“Then why night-time?” He gestured at the countryside around them, lit by the moons but dimming to darkness in the distance. “I’m sure this would be set off to much better effect in the day.”

“Ah. Two reasons, my dear doctor: first,” and he lifted a finger, “the desert borderlands are intolerably hot in the daytime.”

“Oh, of course.” Julian nodded, then paused, a bit incredulous. “Wait – even for you?”

“Even for me. We have a saying to describe someone trying to make the best of a bad situation: ‘she avoids the desert by travelling the borderlands.’”

“Catchy.”

He pursed his lips. “I admit it does seem to lose something in translation. At any rate, there is a second reason...”

He trailed off, waited for Julian to look back at him, curious; Julian obliged, as he’d known he would, and Garak smiled at him, watched his expression soften.

“The f’Irit bloom only at night, Doctor. And I wanted you to see them. Truly, they are the key to understanding this place.” He gestured to the yellow flowers drooping indolently from the scrubby bushes around them, streaming their scent through the evening. _Can he enjoy it the way I do?_ So much of Cardassia seemed to be beyond Human detection...

Apparently, however, he didn’t need to worry about this particular aspect, because when Julian sniffed the air he smiled wide, his eyes closing. Perhaps he didn’t catch every nuance of the f’Irit that a Cardassian might, but it didn’t seem to matter; his enjoyment was evident. Ah, his face was charming, enchanting; now, as if he felt Garak’s eyes on him, his smile tilted, his brows rose, and suddenly Garak was almost overwhelmed, filled with the urge to touch, to taste, to kiss, to bite—

_Soon, Elim. Control..._

Control was beginning to seem a bit over-rated, really. But it wouldn’t do to be obvious. A distraction was what he needed, and conversation was, as always, reliable.

“Aren’t the f’Irit magnificent? They grow only in the borderlands, you know.” Was that a tremble in his voice? _None of that, Elim._

“Is that so?” Julian’s eyes were still closed, that smile playing around his lips, _soon..._

“Mmm,” oh, dear, now he was half-singing; he forced his voice to settle back into its normal calm tones. “It’s a bit ironic, don’t you think? The admittedly short-sighted policy of environmental exploitation my people have so long embraced has actually resulted in the flourishing of at least one species.” There, that sounded educational.

Julian ignored it. One hazel eye opened, fixing him with an amused stare. “You do seem to like to take me to places with pretty flowers, Garak.”

A bit of a non-sequitur. Very well, he could go with it. “Perhaps I think you’re well-matched with pretty scenery.”

Now the other eye opened, and Julian’s expression was beyond amused and slightly into mocking. “That is a terrible line. And don’t blame the translator.”

Hmm. A bit rude. He rather liked it. “Very well, you’ve exposed me: I have a secret liking for gardens.”

“Not so secret.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, it’s obvious to _me.”_ Julian shrugged dismissively. “Really, you’re getting worse and worse at keeping your secrets as time goes on. Perhaps you’re getting a little too used to being... obvious.”

At that last, he looked at Garak with narrowed eyes, with a small smile, and Garak found himself suddenly rather breathless; how argumentative, how abrasive, _oh,_ Julian was being terribly flirtatious tonight...

_Now?_

_Not yet—_

“Or perhaps I’ve simply been spending far too much time with you lately, Doctor. Clearly, you are a very bad influence on me.”

That got him raised brows and full lips pressed together in a frown, _ah,_ really, this was delightful and near-intolerable, and he was being patient, so patient...

Julian took a few steps away from him, stepping close to one of the bushes. He took one of its thin branches in his hand, examining its flowery burden curiously. The breeze that had flirted with them throughout the evening chose this moment to pick up again, and the feathery-petalled f’Irit were torn from their branches, swirling in the air; they drifted around Julian, catching on his clothing, his hair. He batted at them absently, and Garak could hardly contain himself.

_It’s like a dream._

Well, there was no sense in deluding himself. It was also rather like the title page of a poorly-written romance novel, simply too tritely pretty to be real.

But that did rather describe Julian Bashir as well, didn’t it? Too lovely to be real... and to see him here on Cardassia, silhouetted by night sky, lightly dusted with f’Irit petals... _Elim Garak, if you have ever doubted that you are a helpless romantic, this moment proves it._ His heart was thumping in his chest, triplet after triplet pushing blood through his veins, _oh,_ and soon had to be now, it had to be—

But now Julian was talking _again,_ and this was almost certainly one of the first times he’d wished that wasn’t so. _Act your age, Elim!_

“This really is an astonishingly beautiful place, Garak... Have you ever really been here?”

He blinked, briefly taken aback. “Of course. Many times.”

“Why?”

He wasn’t quite sure what to do with that question. “I’m sorry?”

“Why do people come here?”

“Ah...” _Think fast, Elim._ It probably wouldn’t do to admit up front that it was a particularly popular place for lovemaking. “Well, it is a renowned spot for vole-hunting.” There. That was true.

Julian smiled, eyes narrowing, and tilted his head. “Vole-hunting.”

“Mmm.”

Oh, and now suddenly Julian turned to him, moved towards him; his smile changed, subtly, and his voice dipped low. “And is that why you chose to bring me here? So we could go vole-hunting?” Ah, that voice, dripping with nectar; when he talked that way, Garak could listen for hours...

At least, in theory. In reality, when Julian talked that way, Garak could usually handle it for about thirty seconds before he needed to taste him.

He was acutely aware that the clock had started. Tick, tick, tick, _oh, little mercies..._

“Vole-hunting is perhaps not exactly what I had in mind, Doctor...” Somehow he kept his voice steady, but he allowed something of what he was feeling to show through, to drift between the words. _Now? Please?_

Julian had come just close enough to touch, and Garak found himself very much inclined to do so; his hand moved smoothly, surely, sliding around Julian’s waist, finding its way to that remarkably intriguing lattice, fingers slipping in to stroke soft skin, _oh..._ His eyes closed for a moment; when they re-opened, Julian was smiling, leaning in.

His voice was teasing. “Good. I’m really not dressed for it.”

“Ah... and what _are_ you dressed for, my dear?” Now his other hand could move to Julian’s neck, could trace up and down its arch, so naked, so exposed; Julian tilted his head, opening himself to Garak’s touch, and how was the man so intoxicating? _I am drunk on one glass of kanar..._

Dark brows arched, and Julian’s smile quirked. “Well, I’m definitely on the hunt for _something._ It’s just not voles.”

 _Ouch._ He winced, hands pausing in their motion. “And you chastised me for my terrible line?”

Now that smile widened, showing teeth. “Look, are you going to complain about my flirting technique or are you going to kiss me?”

Well, there was really not much he could say to that, was there. Not that he particularly wanted to...

He flattened his hand against the small of Julian’s back and pulled him close, tilted his head back and met his lips with his own; ah, the heat, the _heat,_ and the taste, exploding in his mouth, glory on his so’c—

There wasn’t really time to savour the kisses. They were too quick, they deepened too rapidly. There was no slow flirtation here, not with this one. Garak had soon learned that Cardassian-style lovemaking was far too leisurely for Julian Bashir, who ate quickly, read quickly, thought quickly, and – well, he already had both hands inside Garak’s tunic, undoing hidden fasteners, and that really rather summed up the matter.

Hmm, he’d better pick up his own pace if he was going to keep up with Julian. He let his own hands busy themselves happily with unfastening the tied shoulders of Julian’s tunic, one, two, _three,_ and the lovely thing slipped from Julian’s shoulders with a soft rustle, leaving them bare.

Ah, tan skin against creamy fabric... It wasn’t really something he could be expected to resist, was it? And so he didn’t try; he leaned in, bending his head, and nipped as softly as he could at those ridgeless shoulders, oh, naked and defenseless – really, making love to the Human was teaching him the value of restraint, even if the need for patience and caution did rather make him want to howl at the moons, sometimes...

Oh, well, little matter when each soft bite was met with an equally soft sound of pleasure, born in the hollow of Julian’s throat. Now he let one hand rest there, fingers circling, and felt the vibrations of Julian’s voice thrum against his fingertips; meanwhile, as well-made and flattering as Julian’s tunic was, it was really becoming quite imperative that it come _off,_ and so his other hand tugged at it, urging Julian, _come on—_

A good thing that Julian was feeling co-operative, because while he’d been nibbling and tugging, Julian had industriously managed to undo all the fasteners of Garak’s tunic – a job in itself! – and push it off his shoulders. Now it hung loosely down his back, dragging at his arms, and he couldn’t very well remove Julian’s shirt and his own at the same time, could he? A tailor he was, yes, very clever with his hands, but he couldn’t work _miracles._ Luckily, Julian appeared to have come to much the same conclusion at approximately the same time, and he released Garak’s tunic and focussed on his own; with a truly charming wriggle, he slid his arms up and out of it, and let it fall softly down his body, past those narrow hips. It hit the ground soundlessly in a delicate heap of fabric, and he stepped out of its pool and pushed it aside with a foot.

At any other time, Garak would have been quite irritated to see such a beautiful garment treated so poorly. Here and now, he was overjoyed. _Oh, look at you, Julian, look at you—_

All soft sand-stone skin, with that peculiar Human scattering of hair; really, it was something of an over-abundance. All over their faces, all over their bodies – what had evolution been trying to accomplish with it? It wasn’t even enough to keep them warm... not that this was something this particular Human had to concern himself with; here, on ersatz-Cardassia, sweat glistened on his skin, and the moonslight found small droplets beading here and there, begging for the eager attention of Garak’s tongue.

He bowed to the will of his greedy little so’c and slid his arms out of his own tunic, dropping it quite unceremoniously to the ground, so that he could pull Julian close again, so that he could run his tongue along his collarbone, so fine, so delicate; so that he could collect the myriad little drops of sweat there and savour them. The blend was un-Cardassian in the extreme, salty-sweet and desperately addictive. _It must be. Every time I taste it, I want more..._ And here, mixed with skin and sweat, was the soft tingling of the f’Irit, diluted and expanding on his tongue, his so’c; _ah,_ the flavour was exquisite and strange, strange... _Has anyone ever tasted this? Has anyone else ever tasted f’Irit sparkling on a Human’s skin?_

He felt the petals now, scintillating where they’d landed on his own neck, his back, his arms. They made a dotted constellation of warmth across his skin, seeming almost to pulse where they touched him; he felt outlined by them, bordered, as if the f’Irit petals held his skin together and he himself was pure emotion, pure pleasure... oh, it was freeing, it was release, and he hummed his delight against Julian’s skin.

Julian’s hands were sliding over his mec’hUt now, as they always did; the Human seemed to be fascinated with the way the scales lay at the nape of his neck and down over his shoulders, and now – yes, now his hands were tracing down Garak’s back, exploring the taper of scales that came to a point in the middle of his back. The touch was soft at first, a flickering of fingers, but then – _ah!_ – it twisted to a scratch, a positive _scrape_ of Julian’s nails down his back, and he couldn’t help but gasp. _He is a quick study, isn’t he? Elim Garak, you are a lucky man..._ He arched his back against Julian’s fingernails, heard a puff of laughter, felt Julian’s lips press against his neck, oh, and now teeth sank into his ridges; really, he was weak in the knees.

 _Stay focussed, Elim;_ it wouldn’t do to give in so easily, would it? No, not at all; he should certainly make sure that Julian was weak in the knees as well. Ah, and he knew a way to do that...

He lifted his head from Julian’s chest, tasting salt on his lips. Julian’s head was tucked neatly into the angle of Garak’s neck and shoulder, and so it was easy to turn his own head slightly, to find Julian’s ear – hard to miss, with the way it angled out from his skull – and to breathe into it, a sigh, _ahh..._

Yes, and there it was; he felt the tremor that ran through Julian’s body, the brief spasming of the hands against his back, and Julian groaned against his neck, long and low. Suddenly he was pulled closer to the Human, pressed up against the length of him; he felt the firmness of Julian’s prUt, hard through his pants, and restrained a smile. Questions of language distracted him for a moment: could it even be called a prUt if it was _always_ in bloom? Of all the fascinations inherent in making love to an alien, that had to be one of the strangest—

 _Oh,_ and he was thoroughly distracted as Julian ground up against him, his prUt pressing compellingly against Garak’s ajan; even through several layers of cloth he felt the expansion, the swelling of his scales, _mmm, more, please, more?_

Wait, no, that wasn’t right – hadn’t the entire point of this been to delay the point at which he’d have to beg? Things had gone sadly astray. With no small amount of effort he blinked away the haze over his vision, searched for the words which usually came so easily. The name, he could use the name... “Mmm, Julian... I must say, you look particularly lovely tonight...”

Julian’s voice was muffled, interrupted by kisses, by bites that flooded Garak’s ridges with sensation. “Now? You’re telling me this now?”

“You really... ah, you really ought to know...” He breathed, savouring the air, the jolts of electricity that sparked through him with every nip, every scratch; mmm, what next, what next? Really, there were simply too many delightful options available to him.

“Thanks for your consideration – _oh!”_ That last moan was jerked from him by one of Garak’s hands sliding down to cup one of his buttocks, to squeeze; hmm, and since Julian liked that, it did seem worth continuing. He rubbed, he stroked, and Julian writhed against him, an oddly Cardassian movement, matched with yet another Cardassian gesture: one of Julian’s hands had wandered up his back, down over his shoulder, and was now just finding his chula – _ahh,_ and he gasped, pulling in breath, as Julian’s thumb rubbed firmly over it, pressing in—

_“Gently!”_

“But not _too_ gently, isn’t that right, Elim?” A low laugh, and another firm bite, and his own name on the doctor’s lips; oh, he was certain he was flushed grey over the entire length of him, now, every ridge evincing his arousal, betraying what lay at his core.

 _You are shameless, Elim; you_ like _showing him this..._

Little mercies, yes, he _did,_ he liked knowing that Julian could see what he was doing to Garak, he liked being obvious, here if nowhere else. _Years, I’ve waited years..._

And now here Julian was, warm and willing and with him, oh, it was too much to bear, and could he bloom now? Was he permitted?

_Not yet, not yet – another moment of control, Elim, just to prove you can..._

Games with himself, always, games to while away the years, and meanwhile time was moving rather quickly and Julian was panting against his neck as Garak’s free hand stroked down his chest, found one dark nipple and circled it, painting it with Julian’s own sweat. The Human’s body hid nothing; his most sensitive parts had no shelters, no safeguards. Really, he was so _strange_ , right down to the colour of his skin, dusky against Garak’s own. No Cardassian that had ever lived had gloried in a skin the colour of Julian Bashir’s. Desert-sand and crushed stone, copper like the vines of heppat that twined up the wall near the Pillar of Heroes in Ves’jin Square... How odd to make love to someone who wore the hues of Cardassia in his very flesh. _Perhaps my tastes aren’t as exotic as they seem..._

He kept his hands moving, found that delicate ear again, sighed into it, “Do you know, Julian, I think there were a number of people in the bar who would have liked to take you home with them...?”

“Do – _oh_ , do tell...” More moan than murmur, really, and Garak smiled and ran his tongue along the contours of that ear, revelled in the sudden crush of Julian’s arms around him.

“Mmm, yes, my dear... I counted at least three that appeared to have less than virtuous intentions towards you...” And where else could he take his tongue? Hmm, perhaps lower... yes, that was definitely having a desirable effect; he licked his way down Julian’s neck, let the sounds Julian made hum straight from naked throat to Garak’s open mouth, _ah..._

“But your motives, of course, were entirely pu-u-ure...” That stammer building as Garak teased with his tongue, coaxed with both hands, _my lovely, wordy darling, I will take your words yet..._

He paused, smiling against Julian’s neck. “Oh, but of course. I simply wished to show you Cardassia. What motive could be high— _Unh,_ that’s – _goodness_ , Julian!” As Julian’s thumb, slick with sweat, circled again and again over Garak’s chula, seeming to carry with it a spark of electricity that flared every time it touched the centre of the hollow... _Who is losing his words, Elim?_

Banter was beginning to seem less and less appealing, somehow, and Julian appeared to be thinking much the same thing, for he didn’t bother responding to Garak – at least, not with words. Instead he bit again at Garak’s shoulder ridge and ran his open mouth roughly down over Garak’s chest, lips and teeth rubbing and catching at each scale, leaving a flare of bright pleasure in his wake; Garak, helpless, found himself clutching rather pathetically at Julian, steadying himself against his body, back arching, hissing out his joy.

Perhaps it wasn’t _so_ bad to lose one’s words. There was so much they simply couldn’t express, after all; this situation, in particular, seemed rather beyond definition, as now Julian’s hands slid to find his stomach, drifted lower. Hands and mouth worked in concert, moving downwards, and Garak’s own hands were braced against Julian’s shoulders as he pushed his hips forward, ajan swollen, prUt ready to bloom, _now now now_ —

He felt the word against his skin, muffled. “Ouch!”

Dizzy with sensation and drunk on scent, his mind could barely parse the moment. “Wha... what, Julian?”

From his current vantage point, all he could see was a dark head, an expanse of tan shoulders, a scattering of f’Irit petals across smooth skin; the head tilted back, and two puzzled eyes met his gaze. “Sorry, I...” A blink, a shake of that head. “Look, never mind, I – _ouch!”_

This was not quite what he’d envisioned his immediate future would contain. “Are you all right?” Had he gripped too tightly? Those shoulders were so delicate; had he bruised him?

“I’m not sure, I – ouch, _damn_ it, Garak, something is biting me!” Consternation widened Julian’s eyes, and he pushed away from Garak and landed roughly on his rump; his hands brushed frantically at his chest, his shoulders, his arms.

“Biting you?” It wasn’t possible. There were no insects in the simulation, he knew it for a fact: he’d taken the liberty of editing them out, because the plans he’d had for Julian would not be enhanced by multi-legged company. He frowned, crouched down next to Julian, arousal fading sadly into concern. “Nothing can possibly be biting you. Here, let me—”

 _“Ouch!_ Tell _them_ that!” Now Julian was trying desperately to reach the middle of his own back, muscles working as he did his very best to crawl out of his skin. “It’s these damned petals! It’s that f’Irit! It’s – it’s hooking into my skin – Garak!” His eyes were indignant. “Did you know this would happen?”

Impossible, _impossible—_ “I – I didn’t expect this – they do attach, _yes,_ but it feels _good,_ Julian – it’s an aphrodisiac—”

“An aphrodisiac!” The words were groaned out, Julian’s voice almost rueful. “Well, I am _not aroused!_ Goddamned Cardassia—” Julian scraped at the little petals, pulling them off of him, batting at the ones drifting in the breeze. “Of course the flora are parasitic, of _course_ they are—”

Hardly fair, but somehow this really didn’t seem the time to discuss it, and meanwhile the breeze had picked up again and more f’Irit swirled around them, suddenly ominous. “Come, Doctor!”

Julian’s gaze was slightly confused and very distracted. “Oh, God, what now?”

“Just—” This was really quite frustrating, and now the foolish man wouldn’t listen. “Just come with me!”

He tugged Julian up from the ground, threw an arm around his waist; Julian was too busy trying to scour himself clean of f’Irit to really pay much attention to what was happening, and so Garak had to half-haul him along, steering him towards a not-too-distant stand of grupt’a. They’d be tall enough to block the daytime sunlight, no f’Irit would grow there – _it should be safe_ – and meanwhile Julian leaned against him as they ran, making tremendously irritated sounds as he scrabbled at his skin and missing the occasional step, and while Garak had in the past idly toyed with the idea of sweeping the doctor off his feet, this really hadn’t been how he’d considered doing it.

The branches of the grupt’a whipped against them as they pushed into the glade, slapping at them; they bounced harmlessly off Garak’s scales, and apparently Julian’s skin was tough enough to deflect at least this. Thank goodness; he didn’t really need additional worries right now, not with Julian almost beside himself with frenzied irritation, “Ow, _ow,_ damn it, Garak, get them _off!”_

They sank to the ground, and he added his hands to Julian’s own efforts; together they tugged f’Irit petals from Julian’s arms, his shoulders, his back. Each one they pulled free left behind a little welt, red and swollen, and there were so many, and this was _stupid—_

“Never mind this, Doctor, let’s just—” He addressed the air. “Computer, end pro—”

“Ignore that, Computer.” Julian’s voice was sharp, tense with discomfort, and Garak looked at him, _what?_

“Doctor, why—”

“I didn’t _say_ to end the program, Garak. I just said to _get them off.”_

_Well, this is interesting._

Very well, then; he would re-direct his efforts. Now, how best to approach the situation? _Worst first,_ and so he gently pulled off the petals closer to Julian’s more sensitive parts: chest, then neck, then around the ears. Julian focussed on the petals he could reach easily, on his arms, his hands.

“God, it _itches.”_ Annoyance vibrated through Julian’s voice.

Hmm. Well, sometimes a distraction could help; it was true of insect bites, so perhaps it was true of this? He pursed his lips, blew a cool stream of air gently over a cluster of angry red welts on Julian’s neck, and Julian shivered.

“Oh, that’s better...”

That was good. And if that helped, then perhaps a slight amplification of the sensation would be even better. He leaned in to kiss one of the welts and felt Julian’s skin, hot against his lips. _I must be so cold to him._ How pleasant that perhaps this could now work in his favour... and indeed, Julian shivered again, and sighed, and looked at him, smiling.

“And what about your little friends, Garak?”

Ah. He spared a glance to his own shoulders, his own arms, still spotted with yellow. “They appear to be quite content. I don’t think they’ll be any trouble to you.” _And none at all to me;_ his skin tingled pleasantly.

“They stay attached, do they?”

“Mmm, yes, usually, until they’re sated, and then they drop off. If the soil is good, they’ll seed a new f’Irit.”

“Charming.” Julian’s voice was rather dry. _Hard to blame him._ “And how long does it take for them to be... sated?”

“Oh,” on a sigh, “one never knows... Outlasting one’s f’Irit can become quite the game, sometimes...” A memory flashed in his mind, and he smiled for a moment; Julian tilted his head, curious.

“And do you get little welts, afterwards?”

“Not usually, no.”

“Of course not...” Oh, the resignation in that voice; so very funny, and he couldn’t help but smile; Julian met his eyes and smiled back, ruefully, as he scratched at the bumps on his arms.

“Very itchy, are they?”

“Very... but you know, you _were_ helping...” A bit of a plea, now, and he wasn’t cruel enough to refuse it. He bent and pressed his lips to another set of angry little spots, and heard a small sound, a gasp, as cool lips touched hot skin—

This _was_ interesting. A whole new dimension to f’Irit, waiting to be explored. Not for the faint of heart, perhaps, but if Julian Bashir could handle it, well, so could Elim Garak.

More kisses, placed lightly on each welt as it was revealed; more shivers, more sighs, and Julian was more relaxed now, starting to uncoil. He leaned forward against Garak, resting his chin on Garak’s shoulder, and Garak found himself with a really rather remarkable view of long, lovely back, dimpled where the spine pushed to the surface. Ah, such intriguing shapes and shades; honestly, to call Humans “unfinished” was to completely miss their hidden fascinations. Then again, so many could look at a promising piece of material and see nothing more than cloth... Ah, well, their loss was his gain, and meanwhile he was rhapsodizing again when he could be busy, busy—

He pulled another petal free, and found it had left a small scratch in Julian’s perfect skin where it had attached itself, desperate to find a home. A part of him almost sympathized with the horrible little thing. Skin like that did call out to be bitten into. _But if I can restrain myself, you can do the same._ He dropped the petal to the ground and turned his attention to the tiny red line it had left behind. Oh, a shame...

Hmm.

He kissed it and, daring, flicked his tongue out and tasted – ah, and here was that flavour again, that mingled bouquet: a hint of f’Irit, a wash of salty Human skin, and he rolled them both around in his mouth, over his so’c. Delightful, and he found his eyelids were suddenly heavy; he let them droop, the better to focus on the pleasure in his mouth. _Hmm, hmm;_ he hummed to himself, quietly, almost beneath his breath, and he tasted again, kissed again, let his tongue drift over smooth skin—

“Focus, Garak.” Julian’s voice was relaxed now, almost lazy, and yet there was a sternness to it, a hint of command that froze Garak in his place. “There are a few more on my back. Get them off first.”

Ordering him around? _Really?_

And yet he flushed, grey spreading over his ridges, he could feel it—

“Doctor,” and somehow he kept his voice calm, kept himself from singing, “I am simply being as thorough as possible. I want to be completely certain I haven’t missed any petals.” He let himself taste once more, slowly; he certainly wouldn’t want Julian thinking that he had Garak jumping at his very word. _Whatever the truth of the situation might be._ Little mercies, how he throbbed inside, and yet he stayed collected, pulled away from Julian, met his gaze with a quiet smile. “I would prefer that your memories of this little excursion be pleasant ones.”

The frenzied expression of a few minutes prior was nowhere to be found on Julian’s face; instead the younger man smiled back at him, languid and knowing. “Ah, well, in _that_ case, Elim, take your time...” And the tone of his voice, the tilt of his head whispered _obvious, you are obvious..._

He had no secrets left, it seemed. _I am revealed._

Well... in that case, one might as well revel in it, wasn’t that so? One was, perhaps, permitted to be completely _shameless._

“I shall, Julian. I promise you that.” He let his voice dip low, let it pull a shiver from the man he caressed. “Now stand.”

“I... I’m sorry?” The slightest tone of confusion in Julian’s voice, but he really did need to be reminded who was the teacher and who the student. It was for his own good. The pulsing of his prUt within him had nothing to do with it, nothing at all.

“Stand up, Julian Bashir. Stand up and let me look at you.”

A moment, and then a nod of that dark head, and Julian pushed himself up, body straightening; Garak knelt before him and looked up, smiling.

“Turn for me, please.”

A puff of laughter. “Are you taking my measurements?”

Not permissible. He let his voice lash out. _“Turn.”_

He heard the gasp, the slight inhalation; Julian looked down, met his eyes—

And turned, his stance slightly awkward, smiling, knowing, completely aware; moonslight filtered through the stand of grupt’a, and Julian moved through light and dark as he let Garak look at him, let him stare, mouth open, sipping air, needing, _needing—_


	3. Chapter 3

_‘cause i’d like to see you out in the moonlight_  
 _i’d like to kiss you way back in the sticks_  
 _i’d like to walk you through a field of wild flowers_  
 _and i’d like to check you for ticks_

_* * *_

Julian had been correct; there were a few stealthy petals hiding on his lower back, and so that was where he began. He tugged them away, one at a time, lingering between each one to kiss the injured spot – but this required only one hand, and to fail to do something interesting with the other would demonstrate an uncharacteristic lack of imagination.

_Hmm..._

A tug, a kiss, a lick, and his free right hand worked its way around Julian’s waist, finding the front of his pants, searching for the closure – ah _,_ there it was, and he toggled its release and unsealed it with a quick slide of his fingers. A smart design, easy to access, _thank you, clever tailor, whoever you are,_ and now he could slip his hand inside, searching—

 _“Oh,”_ and Julian pushed his hips forward against Garak’s hand, pressing his prUt against his palm, and this was simply delicious – no undergarment at _all?_ _My dear, you truly were on the hunt tonight!_ Flattering and not to be ignored, and so he spread his hand out, fingers wide, pushing back against Julian’s strength, palm pressing Julian’s prUt up against his belly, fingertips tracing their way through the curled hair surrounding it. That thatch of hair was more than a little wet with sweat, and he knew it would be redolent with pheromones, _oh,_ he longed to taste it, to bury his face there – but this was about control, this was about patience, and so instead he stroked Julian’s prUt once with a slow, steady hand, and let go.

“Garak...” His name was almost growled into the air, Julian’s voice a charming mixture of arousal and irritation. _Just as I like you..._

“Focus, Julian,” and he smiled against the doctor’s back, “I really must be sure there are no errant petals lurking elsewhere. Please do bear with me.” There, that would rankle just the right amount, and meanwhile he’d picked away all the little petals that had clung to Julian’s lower back, and so both hands were free to tug at the waistband of Julian’s trousers, easing them down over his pretty hips, his charming little rump, and down those lasciviously long legs until they reached the ground. _There we are..._

Cardassia was a warm planet, comfortable and welcoming, and now he appreciated her gentleness in an entirely new way: Julian, completely naked in the dappled moonslight, didn’t shrink from the night air, didn’t cover himself to defend against a sudden chill. Indeed, he stretched his arms out and seemed to luxuriate in the warmth; Garak heard him sigh, and chuckled to himself.

“Laugh if you like.” Julian’s tone was irascible. “You haven’t made it up to me yet.”

“Of course, of course...” He chose his tone to soothe, to smooth Julian’s raised bristles, and meanwhile he tapped gently on one fine-boned ankle until Julian lifted his foot and let Garak slide off first his shoe, and then the pant leg, swift and smooth. A repeat on the other side and ah, there he was...

When he’d programmed their little scenario, he’d come very close to setting it under the light of the blind moon, dark enough to hide secrets and the preferred time of ever so many romantic fictions; in the end, however, he’d been unable to resist the thought of Julian lit by all three moons, and even though the f’Irit had left their mark on Julian, Garak was still half-dazed by the sight of him – graced by moonslight, framed by stars half-seen through fronds of grupt'a, oh, that had been a _good_ decision...

But none of it could show, there could be no evidence; his voice was light and laughing. “My goodness, Julian... I believe I’ve found a petal here.” He ran his hands up a lightly-muscled calf, letting the coarse little hairs there slide under his fingertips.

“Have you really? How surprising.” Less irritation and more laughter in Julian’s voice, now. “How do you suppose it could have gotten there?”

“Perhaps the breeze blew it under the hem of your trousers.” He kissed the back of that calf, rubbed his cheek against it; ah, so soft, so very smooth, not a scale to be found. An acquired taste, to be sure. _So very worth acquiring..._

“Seems unlikely.”

“Do you want to argue the point, or do you want me to keep going?”

“Can’t we do both – _ouch,”_ as Garak nipped at him, “all right, I’ll be quiet...”

Garak smiled at that, let his voice turn dry. “I very much doubt it.”

He heard the doctor bite back a response and had to laugh again, _oh,_ the man was a confection; meanwhile, here he was engaging in wordplay when he really should be engaging in foreplay, and so he slid both hands up Julian’s thighs to caress his rump, to squeeze his buttocks, and he hissed quiet pleasure at Julian’s little jump of startled response.

“Think you’ll find many petals there?” Teasing, but there was a bit of that stammer in his voice, a slight rise in intensity; ah, yes, that was what he wanted.

“Just being thorough, my dear,” as he let his lips glide along the perfect curve where Julian’s bottom met his thigh, as he breathed in the rich, luxurious scents that went with such marvellously hidden territory. Mmm, a confection indeed, multi-layered and sweet – could a Human lover ever appreciate him the way Garak did? He almost wanted to shudder, thinking of how Julian’s myriad delights had gone to waste. _Until now, and I will savour every one..._ Suiting action to thought, he opened his mouth, let his teeth rest gently against that pretty roundness—

“Don’t bite!”

“Never, my dear, never...” But tiny nips were permitted, they’d determined that, and so Garak nibbled his way along across that firm bottom, and while he pleased himself with kisses and licks and tastes of flesh, he slid a hand between Julian’s legs, finding that tender little pouch—

“Ah, _ah,”_ and Julian’s voice was really rather fraught now, so _very_ delightful. He cupped that delicate purse, careful not to squeeze... well, not overmuch, but just a little, just enough to elicit another sweet moan, _yes,_ there it was, mmm, and if he now slid his other hand around and over a jutting hip, warm skin stretched tight over bone and caressed in passing, if he reached a bit further...

“Yes, Elim, _please—”_

Better, much better: here was the shaft of Julian’s prUt, quite shockingly hard now – goodness, so strange, all the variations in firmness the Human’s prUt could display, and the _size_ of it; excess in all things really did seem to be Julian Bashir’s stock in trade. It was almost funny to stretch his fingers out, to reach from base to tip; what on earth did Humans do with all that length? Especially when it was girth that really mattered... Ah, well, differing anatomies; one couldn’t judge, and meanwhile Julian’s prUt was so very fascinating, and perhaps he’d given enough attention to his rump. He dropped one last kiss on each buttock, and one more on the dimple at the base of Julian’s spine – _don’t forget me, I’ll be back_ – and placed a hand on each of Julian’s hips, pressing, insisting, _turn or you will fall..._

Half-laughing, half-gasping, Julian turned awkwardly, shifting his feet, trying not to sway under Garak’s firm pressure, “All right, all right—”

“Thank you, Julian,” and now he had a charming view, and he took a moment to savour it: dark curls surrounding dusky skin, shaft of prUt stretching tall, and that amusing little half-shield of skin at its tip. Really, it was rather sweet: the Human body’s one attempt at protecting a sensitive area, and it was so very, very ineffective; why, he could simply run one hand up along the lovely thing, could stroke the soft skin, could slide up a little higher—

_“Ah!”_

—and here was the tip, moist and dark and so very sensitive; why had evolution even bothered to try? He traced over it with a fingertip, sliding over and around—

“Gently, Elim, just – that’s too much, but _please_ don’t stop—”

The poor man’s voice, so very conflicted; it seemed cruel to push too far. He abandoned his curious explorations and let his hand slide back down, curled his fingers around the base and squeezed. “Better?”

His only answer was a strangled groan, a thrust of hips; yes, apparently that was better, and so he kept a firm pressure on the shaft, let his hand move up and down and up again the way Julian liked – ah, good, he was doing it properly, because now one of Julian’s hands came down to twist into his hair, _oh,_ that tug against his scalp... And now Julian’s other hand joined his own in its caress of that eager prUt; long fingers ran over his hand, over the shaft, greedy for sensation. Not acceptable; he stopped, squeezed, permitted no motion.

“Patience, Julian; control yourself. You really must give me time to check thoroughly...”

The only response to that was a sort of irritated “aargh,” and he ignored that as it deserved, tilted his head, paused, gasped discovery—

“Hmm... do you know, I believe I’ve found yet another petal!” Oh, and Julian’s prUt jerked in his hand, and he saw Julian’s fingers clench, very, _very_ good!

Julian actually managed to answer him this time, in a breathy, quavering voice that was really quite funny; goodness, the man was trying so _very_ hard. “I’m starting to think you’re being less than truthful, Elim...”

“Really, my dear; your lack of trust is simply shocking. Considering you’re nearly begging me to do _this,”_ and he stroked the shaft again, a quick, firm, up-and-down that pulled a near-wail from Julian, “one would think you’d be willing to take my word for it...?”

“Fine, _fine,_ just don’t _stop—”_

Ah, but he could do better, couldn’t he? He mused softly, as if to himself, “Do you know, in this half-light it’s actually a bit hard to see where those petals are...”

“Oh, for _God’s_ sake!” Marvellous frustration—

“I think... yes, I think I might do much better with taste,” and he moved swiftly, tugging down on Julian’s prUt and taking its tip into his mouth; Julian gasped, clutched at his shoulders – _mmmmph! –_ oh, he was jolted with sensation, near-electrified, and he had to resist the urge to bite down, which would benefit _no one—_

“Elim, oh, God, _Elim—”_

Mmm, sweat and musk and just a hint of bittersweet, a taste of clouds building; he ran his tongue around the firm head, goodness, so _large,_ and let it slip from his mouth. “Dear me, I was mistaken; there are no petals here at all.”

“Check again,” that lovely voice so urgent now; Julian’s hands tugged at his shoulders, gripped his ridges, _oh,_ and when he was asked that way, with that undercurrent of aching need, how could he refuse?

He let himself be pulled forward, let his mouth open, closed his eyes, took as much of Julian’s prUt into his mouth as he could—

“Ah, _Elim!”_

That sweet voice, so lyrical, so nearly Cardassian in its need to sing out; really, this was such tremendous fun. It was so tempting to give in, to let himself bend to Julian’s will; he flushed again at the thought of letting the doctor have him, use him – but no, there was dignity to consider, even if one was at the moment being extremely obvious. Instead of sliding his mouth along Julian’s prUt the way he so clearly wanted him to do, instead of pleasing just as ordered, he held still, still—

“Elim, Elim, _please—”_

Little mercies, it was hard to resist that voice, but he kept his calm; he wrapped one hand around the base of Julian’s prUt, controlling it. This would be done his way; it had to be, or else he would completely lose himself, and that simply wasn’t permissible. Now, he could allow himself a quick movement, a taste, a slide – oh, and Julian moaned aloud and Garak barely restrained himself from doing the same; really, the flavour, the heat, the sound of Julian above him, he was very nearly—

Oh, dear, he _was,_ he was in bloom, in full bloom in his clothes; his prUt had pushed itself free from his ajan, and he felt its wetness against his chuva – how very uncontrolled, how very obvious. What was he, a youth? But it was Julian’s fault, really; Julian spun him so, and Julian would pay for it – he took Julian into his mouth again, as deeply as he could, felt him writhe, felt the pulse within his prUt – now he pulled away, sucking as he went, letting the tip of Julian’s prUt spring from his mouth with an audible _pop_ —

“Oh, _God—”_

Invocations of a deity were a good sign; he could work with that, and so he took the prUt in again, deep, deep, then let it slip away, over and over, hearing Julian’s pleasure build, feeling him try to thrust into Garak’s mouth, but he would allow none of that, none at all – his hand was firm at the base of Julian’s prUt, holding him in place, squeezing, twisting slightly – he slid his palm up for a moment, moistened it with his tongue as he tasted the dark, delicious tip, then ran it back down along the shaft and heard Julian’s cry—

 _Soon, soon!_ Any moment now, any moment the clouds would burst, as Julian’s voice spiralled higher and higher, slicing through the air, splitting the night’s silence into fragments, “Elim, Elim, _God, yes, Elim—”_

Oh, and soon was now, soon was finally now; he felt the quivering of Julian’s hips before he even tasted the rain, and then the downpour was upon him, bittersweet and pulsing over and over again, filling his mouth with a flavour of unparalleled strangeness, and over it all Julian’s broken voice, almost sobbing, gasping; Julian’s hands were clasped tight around Garak’s head, fingers hooked under his ear ridges, bracing him, needing him, and this was what he’d brought Julian here for, this was what he’d wanted, oh, he ached with it, his prUt twitched with it, _yes, I am yours, Julian, use me, I am yours..._

When the storm passed, he was still held against Julian’s body, nose pressed against his belly, buried in sparse hair. He inhaled, eyes closed, and drifted on scent, floated on pheromone, letting time stretch, feeling Julian’s fingertips running along his ear ridges, back and forth...

It couldn’t last forever; nothing worthwhile ever could, but still it seemed too short a time until he heard a soft sound from above him, a slight intake of breath, felt Julian’s posture change—

 _Oh. He’s uncomfortable._ That sudden increase in sensitivity after the clouds had parted... such a shame, but he understood. Rather reluctantly, he let Julian’s prUt go, turned his head to catch a fingertip and slipped it into his mouth instead.

Ah, well, it was a decent consolation; here was that salty sweetness he'd so come to enjoy, the flavour of Human, but also... Hmm, there was the faintest hint of his own hair, of the oil he’d applied that morning; a pleasing mixture, so very odd. Human and Cardassian twined together in his mouth, and he smiled against Julian’s hand, lazy and lingering...

“Are you just about done down there?”

That was not the soft, happily post-coital tone he’d expected. Indeed, the voice drifting down to him was almost amused.

He blinked to himself, let the finger slide from his mouth. “Terribly sorry, Doctor; is there something else you’d rather be doing?” And then he looked up, and almost gasped—

Oh, those eyes, that _smile,_ unleashed on him full-force; he was helpless, suddenly weak, all of his wit lost to him as Julian tilted his head, laughing at him.

“Yes, actually, there is,” and Julian crouched down, took his face in both hands, kissed him open-mouthed and _hard—_


	4. Chapter 4

_and ooh, you never know where one might be –_  
 _ooh, there’s lots of places that are hard to reach... (i gotcha)_

* * *

—and while he was dizzied with the taste of Julian, while his so’c sang and sparkled, while his eyes were closed and his hands slid to find smooth shoulders, Julian took the opportunity to shove him over flat on his back.

He hit the ground with a thud, unprepared, wind knocked out of him and eyes opening wide in surprise, and Julian followed him down, pressed his mouth against Garak’s, squeezed his shoulder ridges with strong fingers, slipped a knee over him and straddled him, pinning him to the ground—

He pulled his mouth free, gasped for breath. “Julian!”

“Hmm, yes?” As Julian, denied access to his lips, instead went directly for his chin, then the angle of his jaw, licking and biting and sucking, _oh,_ too much, too fast, his control was flickering and it wasn’t time, not yet—

“Please, my dear, control yourself!” He heard the slip of his voice, the hint of pleading – _none of that!_

“No, no, I don’t think so,” and here was a sharp nip at his ear ridge, here was a slide of Julian’s tongue, “I’ve had more than enough of that tonight. I think...” And now a sigh in his ear, hot breath making him jump. “I think I’d really rather let things get completely out of control...” Warm hands trailed over him, fingernails catching and scratching over his mec’hUt, his shoulder ridges, down his chest, flicking quickly over his tolv – mercies, it was more than he could bear, it was—

“Stop this _immediately.”_ Moving quickly, he caught the doctor’s arms and held them fast, and now here he was, lying sprawled between the thighs of a beautifully naked, sweat-slick young man who was leaning over him, laughing in his ear.

“Oh, you are _shameless,_ Elim Garak...”

 _Oh,_ and he restrained a shudder, kept his voice composed, even allowed himself a cool smile as his heart pounded. “I beg your pardon?”

“Hmmm,” another tracing of Julian’s tongue along his ear ridges, leaving a sparking flare behind it, and now a low laugh, “it’s just rather funny, don’t you think? I mean, here you are, acting as if you don’t want me, and meanwhile every square centimetre of you is flushed dark grey...”

Oh, and he was, he _was,_ there was no use denying that. His body was betraying him, giving up his secrets; every ridge, every tracery of scale across his body carried a beating heart of grey. He could feel it, could feel the throbbing of his skin, ah, how he yearned to rub his ridges against his partner, to scrape, to sigh—

“I simply don’t know what you mean.”

“Mm, really? Well, then, I suppose I’ll have to show you...” He felt tension in the arms he held, let them go; suddenly Julian pushed up and away from him and sat tall, displayed in all his loveliness against the sky that flickered through the grupt’a. _Oh..._

“Show me?”

“Mmm. I’m a bit concerned, really; perhaps you have been spending too much time with me. I think I’d better give you a quick refresher course on Cardassian physiology.”

He blinked. “I’m sorry, my dear; _you_ are going to teach _me_ about Cardassian physiology?”

“Well, you clearly aren’t able to recognize the signs of arousal in the Cardassian male.” Julian tilted his head, smiling. “Good thing for you I’ve made rather a study of them.”

“Have you, now.” Little mercies, he wanted to arch his back, to push his prUt-flared ajan up against the doctor’s soft rump, to roll them both over and pin him down and bite him and—

“Oh, indeed... let’s start at the top, shall we?” Warm fingers trailed down his face, over his ridges, the feeling so sweet it was almost painful – and he lay there, so very still, letting himself be examined. “Your ridges are actually warm to the touch. A bit swollen, too. That’s unusual in itself – might mean you were ill, except look here: the centre of each scale is dark.”

“Is that so.” So exposed—

“Mmm-hmm. Means the blood flow to the area is increased, which, much like in Humans, often leads to an increase in sensitivity,” and Julian squeezed, rubbing his thumb firmly against Garak’s kinat’hU, pulling a gasp from him as the feeling jolted up and down his neck. “Ah, see? Just like that. Classic presentation.”

“It... could be coincidental.” Oh, dear, his voice was trembling, that simply could _not_ be allowed; he paused, swallowed, continued. “You are surmising based on far too little evidence. You do rather like to jump to conclusions, Doctor.”

“Oh, I’m ‘Doctor’ now, am I?” Julian’s hand paused, thumb resting lightly on Garak’s kinat’hU, and he wanted to press against it – _no, no,_ oh, every little mercy...

“Well, you do appear to be giving me a physical examination.” Good, steady voice; now, if he could just keep on this way...

Julian pursed his lips. “Fair point. All right, then, _Mister_ Garak, let me continue...” And his hands slid up Garak’s ridges, squeezing and rubbing as they went, and Garak couldn’t help it – he let slip the smallest sound, the faintest hiss, and saw Julian’s mouth tilt, and the man _ignored_ him, oh, the _impudence_ of him!

“As I’ve stated, your ridges are flushed and swollen; this on its own could be due to any number of things, but then we come to the corroborating detail of your chufa.” A soft breath, caressing his forehead, and he felt the heat as if it was a physical thing, something he could see and touch; he couldn’t help it, he strained up towards it, and Julian’s lips were right there – his chufa pressed against them, unexpected, and he felt those lips part, felt a flicker of tongue—

 _“Oh..._ hmm, my... my chufa?” Denial in the face of clear truth; misdirection and weaving – _play your role, Elim!_

“Yes, indeed.” Julian tutted, shook his head, lips brushing against his skin. “It’s blue, Garak.”

“Is it, now...”

“Oh, yes, unmistakably – clear as day, I’m afraid.” Another gentle lick, tracing the contours of his chufa, and the wash of electric sensation following it almost twisted a moan from him, _please, Julian, please..._

“ _Mmm..._ well,that means very little on its own. Perhaps I’m wearing pasht.” Little mercies, Julian’s neck was _right there,_ so close, traced over with trails of perspiration – _unbearable!_ He thrummed with the need to press into it, to bury his face in it, to taste Julian’s fluttering pulse, and instead he held himself in place, restrained every muscle.

“Nonsense. I would taste pasht.” Now a slow slide of the flat of Julian’s tongue across the hollow of his chufa; _unh,_ he couldn’t help himself, he hissed at that, angled his head for more, and the man did _not_ oblige. “And all I taste is you, Garak. Mmm... really rather nice, you know...” Oh, finally, here was another lick, a flicking across his skin with the very tip of Julian’s tongue, and he trembled under Julian, shivered against his thighs. He heard a low, pleased murmur; he squeezed his eyes shut.

 _I am so much stronger than he is –_ oh, it would be so easy to snap himself shut, to trap the Human in a tight embrace, to twist his legs around him and take what he wanted—

_But where would be the fun in that?_

“Very well, then.” Oh, dear; now his voice was taut, straining against his control, and he felt Julian’s smile against his skin. “I admit I can’t deny my chufa, but really, Doctor, they do tend to turn blue at the slightest provocation. Exposure to heat, for example. Perhaps it’s just very warm here.” _Kiss it again, please kiss it again—_

A considering pause; a drip of sweat against his skin. “Cardassia _is_ warm. And you do very much like to be warm, don’t you...” Now another slow, heated breath against his forehead, ending with a lazy press of lips; now against his cheek; now in his ear, and he couldn’t help it, he groaned through clenched teeth—

Another mocking chuckle. “Hmm, yes, can’t quite help that, can you... Anyway, this is beside the point; your chufa is flushed blue, yes, could be any number of reasons, fine, but what about your chula, Garak...?” And here was one of those pretty hands, sliding roughly down his neck, over his Theniaz and down to that ridged, aching hollow – _oh,_ and he jerked up at the touch, he threw his shoulders back and pressed his arms against the ground and pushed against that hand. _Little mercies, I am – I am shamed—_

And here was Julian, looking at him, still _looking_ at him, shaking his head slowly, sweet disappointment on his face. “Do you see what I mean? Shameless, Garak. Look at the colour of this lovely thing.” A thumbnail scraped against his chula, and that slow scratch made him stutter out yet another betraying hiss. “Oh... it blanches so prettily when I scratch it... I think I’ll do it again.” Action was suited to word, and again he hissed, again he pressed up, _oh,_ his prUt was aching – _I am going to go insane._

“Ah... ah... v–very well, Doctor, I— oh, oh, pl—” No, _no,_ he would not beg—

“Now what were you about to say, Elim?” Amused curiosity in that low voice, and now those lips pressed once against the very heart of his chula where the blood ran thick, _oh!_ “Was that a _please_ on your lips?”

“You... you must be mistaken...”

“Ah. Well, I _am_ sorry. I suppose I’d have to work harder for that, wouldn’t I...” Tongue again, lips again, and now teeth nipping sharply at the lower rim of his chula, there, _there,_ working their way along its tapered ridge. “Anyway, even this could potentially be due to something else, I _suppose..._ although I admit I am hard-pressed to think what it could be...” Fingers traced across his chest; nails flicked at the fine scaling of his tolv and he couldn’t help himself – another gasp, and now he bit his own lip, pain flaring and mixing deliciously with pleasure—

“What, nothing to say to that?” Now Julian sat up, amused disapproval on his features. “Come on, Elim, you always have _something_ to say...” His knees were on either side of Garak’s torso, sliding wetly against him; his thighs flexed sweetly against Garak’s hips, and he had to know, he _had_ to know how his bottom was pressing against Garak’s prUt, he had to feel it, oh, this was _blatant,_ this was unrefined and obvious and he thought at any moment he might explode out of his own skin.

“I... I... won’t you complete your examination, Doctor?” Oh, pathetic, incredibly crude; his wit was gone and had taken his words with it.

A smile spread across Julian’s face; he blinked those lovely eyes, lashes sweeping down and up. “Well, it seems to me that the diagnosis is evident. I prefer to avoid unnecessary testing.” A rock of those hips, and that soft rump pressed against him; oh, he _did_ know, he did and he was _ignoring_ it—

“Ah... what if I insist?” He pushed his hips up, needing contact; oh, frustrating, he was still wearing clothes and he so very much wanted to be naked, to be completely exposed. _All my skills are useless against him..._

“Don’t you trust your doctor?” A little twist in the voice, there, and little mercies, he was going to eat the man alive.

“I thought the patient’s needs came first...” Could he use his hands? Could he trust himself?

“Sometimes they don’t know what’s good for them.” Another sweet, back-and-forth rock; a shifting of weight, _oh,_ he could not trust himself, not at all—

“Dear Doctor, I think I know what I need...” If he just stroked those calves... perhaps it would be all right to simply slide his hands over them – ah, but then there were the knees, and then the thighs, and then the enchanting flexures within, shaped for his thumbs, and now he was looking up at Julian, his eyes widening as Julian’s narrowed, his mouth opening as Julian’s smiled, _please, Julian, please, let me be yours—_

“Oh, very well, if you _insist,”_ oh, and suddenly he was overwhelmed, he was pinned in place and devoured by soft, urgent lips, by bites that tugged at his ridges as Julian bent down over him. Those lithe hips were moving, jerking noises from him that certainly weren’t in his usual vocabulary, little half-gasps, sudden near-moans, and now he hissed, breath so tight in his throat – _oh, oh!_

“My God, listen to you!” Laughing at him, Julian was laughing at him _again,_ and now long fingers slipped under the band of his pants, traced along the scaling there, then yanked at the fabric, threatening to tear the closure – _no,_ not allowed, even when he was helpless under the doctor there were some things that simply were _not_ permitted. He frowned up at the young man, and was met with a grin.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be good.” Suddenly the touch was gentle, almost teasingly delicate; surgeon’s hands unsealed his pants with deft movements and slipped inside, and _oh—_

“Oh, my God. Elim Garak. Are you really...” A slide of fingers over his prUt, his full-lipped ajan, the touch so light; he hissed, he writhed. “You are. You _are._ You’re everted right here in your trousers. That is positively _scandalous!”_ Mockery in the voice, a pretense of offended modesty, and he was going to plough furrows in the man, he absolutely was, if he’d only just get _on with it—_

“Tsk, tsk, tsk... And look at this chuva, just look at it; really, Elim, it’s blatant. God, if you’re not going to even try to hide anything from me, you really may as well be naked, don’t you think?” Now his pants were yanked firmly down, and he lifted himself, hips arched high, making it easy, mercies, he was making it _easy,_ and it didn’t go unnoticed; Julian laughed softly to himself as he tugged off Garak’s shoes, pulled the pants off after them.

Moonslight pinned him, exposed him, and Julian crouched at his feet and studied every ridge, looked him up and down from curling toes to bright chufa, gaze drifting lazily, taking his time. Under those eyes, Garak found himself shivering, shaking, pleasure radiating from his core; the f’Irit on his skin throbbed as his ridges tautened, and oh, he was expanding...

_Do you like it, Elim? Do you like it when he looks at you?_

_I do, I do, mercies, never let it stop—_

As if in echo of his own thoughts, he heard Julian’s voice, contemplative and pleased. “I do like to look at you, Elim. You put on such a good face, you know.”

Oh, more words? _Too much of a good thing_ , wasn’t that what the doctor said? He forced himself to focus. “D–do I...?” _Pathetic._

“Mmm, you really do. I doubt anyone on the station knows how brazen you truly are.”

Then again, sometimes words were just what was wanted; he shook with their impact. “I... beg your pardon?”

“Really, just look at you...” Another shake of that lovely head, a sigh, a pursing of pretty lips. “You’re positively crying out for me to fuck you.”

 _Oh,_ and that word from the doctor’s sweet mouth – almost never heard, saved only for Garak, coarse and harsh and _marvellous,_ and he gasped and tasted sweat and lust, drifting in the air —

“Can’t wait, can you? No patience at all, honestly.” Julian’s voice was distant, mildly irritated, but meanwhile he kissed Garak’s ankles, his calves, bit softly at the scaling of his knees, then nosed in higher; hot breath teased his inner thighs, and he was an e’loj basking, spread wide, waiting for the touch of the sun.

“Hmm... clearly you like that. You’re so easy to read, Elim...” Mercies, that voice vibrating against his thighs, and he couldn’t see, he needed to see; he craned his neck up, trying to get a look at what Julian was doing, and all he saw was the top of his head, a flash of heavy-lidded eyes as Julian’s mouth worked, busy, tongue sliding over the tender skin at his fork and up, up—

“Oh!” Crashing over him, stabbing through him; he twitched and writhed as Julian’s tongue found the bottom of his ajan and moved, firm and slick, against the heat there. Julian’s hands slid up and on to his hips, pressing hard against the thick scaling, pinning him down as he sucked and licked his way along Garak’s flared lips. It was maddening, it was wonderful, he pushed up against Julian’s mouth and hissed – but the man was completely ignoring his prUt! _Can I – should I—_

If Julian didn’t do something about it soon, Garak was going to have to; he was in full bloom, ripened bloom, the tip of his prUt rubbing against his chuva, wet and ready, and the combination of that gentle friction, of the scent of the night, of Julian’s wet, warm mouth, and of those hands refusing to allow him any dignity at all – mercies, how much rain could the clouds hold? _If I just – perhaps if I just—_

He rocked his hips from side to side, felt Julian’s mouth slip from its place – _no! No, that wasn’t what I wanted!_ Oh, torturous, and now Julian laughed against his stomach, and those hands pressed him down even more firmly.

“Are you going to hold still, Elim Garak, or am I going to have to sit on you?”

_Ah—_

“Oh...!” Teasing laughter, mocking surprise, and he strained up against Julian’s strength. “I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you...” A dip of that dark head; a slow, wet kiss against his belly. “I think you’d really rather like it if I were to climb on top of you... ah, yes, looks like I’m right, look at you...” _Oh,_ and one of those hands slipped across his skin, slid spread fingers gently over his prUt; helpless, shameless, and he pushed himself into that hand, rubbed himself against those fingers.

“Julian, I – oh, I—”

“You what, Elim?” A press of lips against the base of his prUt, against his swollen irllun, and he felt himself thrumming, felt the quiver of his body as it ached for rain.

“I – I want... oh, my dear—” His voice fluted up as he sang out his need, his usual carefully modulated tones completely lost, _oh, please, my darling, please—_

Hot breath against his prUt. “Say it.”

“I... I’m sorry?”

“You know what I want to hear, Elim.” Another kiss teased him, open-mouthed and heated, _oh,_ the tension in him, he could barely contain the downpour, and he couldn’t be blamed, he couldn’t really be blamed, he had no choice but to give in, and if there was pleasure in that, if there was a hot, secret joy in surrender... _well, no one need know..._

His voice was a whisper. “ka nuslet’I’o... Th-Thuza?” _Please, Julian, make me yours..._

A pause, a pleased sigh, a tutting shake of the head. “Elim, Elim... you and your mouth...” But already Julian was moving, oh, _finally_ sliding up and over him, thighs spread wide, pushing himself up so that he could let himself move slowly, slowly down. A hand found his wet prUt, tugged it upright, pinched its tip and – _oh... oh, yes_ – that first hint of warmth, that tightness as Julian took Garak’s prUt into himself at an agonizingly slow rate, letting Garak’s tapered shape open him a little at a time – ah, and now a gentle rocking as Julian slid down further, further, more, oh, _more_ – he couldn’t help himself, he pushed against him, needing him closer, needing him _now—_

“ _No,_ Elim.” Julian’s voice was stern, his brows lowered, and Garak froze in place, pinned by that stare, planted halfway into Julian and not daring to move, each panted breath pungent with pheromones, _oh, mercies, I am simply going to go mad._

“M–my apologies, my dear, my apolog— _Unh!”_ Suddenly he was enveloped, buried deep as Julian twitched his hips, twisted against him and slid slickly down; now his bottom was firm against Garak’s hips, his thighs flexed against Garak’s sides, and Garak pressed his head back against the ground and whimpered as Julian squeezed tight around him. _I – I can’t—_

“God, Elim, you’re so big at the bottom...” A soft strain in that voice; those pretty eyes pressed shut for a moment, and Julian’s hands tightened on him. Now he was bathed in heat, little mercies, the _heat_ within the man – sun and warm earth and the stretching of skin against day-warmed rock, _oh,_ he burned with it—

“Mmm, yes,” and Julian rocked on him, gently, swivelling his hips slowly from side to side, and the friction against his irllun was wet and sweet and unbearable, every little movement of Julian on him making him hiss and moan, unable to restrain himself. _Not even wanting to, really – oh, mercies, mercies..._ His words had slipped his command and left him defenceless against a body in open revolt; he cried out his betrayal, sharp and joyful.

“Oh, listen to you.” Julian’s voice was stronger now, breathy as his pace picked up. “Once you’re discovered you just can’t _wait_ to confess all your secrets, can you? Shameless, obvious – yes, that’s it, _just_ like that,” as Garak sang out again, unable to hold back; over and over his voice arced into the night, soaring high, fluid and uncontrolled, words spilling from him without his permission—

“Oh, oh – my darling, _oh—”_

“Hmm, endearments now, is it? How very sweet. You call me such pretty things when I’m riding you...” Those hips urged him, moved him, and Julian’s voice was amused, his words half-whispered, _mercies,_ the look on his face, intent and focussed, watching him, _watching_ him – oh, it was almost too much to bear, too much exposure, and those eyes, so sweet and innocent and yet he was being buried deep enough to _root._

“You – you teasing little – _oh,_ you _wanton—”_

 _“Me?”_ A widening of those eyes, a look of outrage on that face. “Hardly fair. I’m not the one flat on my _back,_ grey as _smoke,_ getting _fucked_ in a _holosuite_ in a _bar—”_ Every word punctuated with a flexing twist of hips, a rocking sidle, and Garak gasped under him, eyes unseeing, devoured by sensation, _oh,_ he was losing himself as now Julian moved harder, faster, jerking his hips from side to side, and Garak couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think; he was spread open beneath Julian, pleasure jolting into him with electric speed, making his muscles twitch, making him hiss – within him the clouds gathered, the sky darkened and lightning jumped – every muscle coiled, every scale was beating grey, and over it all the f’Irit sparkled, shooting lines of fire across his skin, until his body could no longer contain him—

 _“Ah,_ oh, my _darling_ , the rain, _the rain—”_

That first tantalizing drop, that moment of braced awareness, and he hissed, eyes wide – then another, another, and the rain took him, washed over him and through him in a single drenching rush, sweeping him away as his back arched and his hands clawed and his feet pushed against the soil and Julian pinned him down, laughing—

* * *

“Oh, my dear...”

“Mmm...”

He’d pulled Julian down to him and held him close, and as his body had calmed, as his prUt had slipped to safety, he’d rolled him over and curved in behind him. Now he curled around Julian in lazy pleasure, feeling rather well-used. Julian reached back with one arm and stroked along his body, down over his hip, tracing the outlines of each contented scale. _Ah..._

Julian’s neck was just there, inviting and smooth; he kissed it, and tasted Julian’s happy murmur.

“You know, Elim, I believe we’re getting better at that...”

“Really...” He dropped another kiss on Julian’s neck, nuzzled into it. “Were we ever bad at it?”

“You remember as well as I do – ouch, careful there!” Ah, he’d scratched him – goodness, the man was so delicate. Honestly, though, his nasal ridging was not particularly sharp; perhaps he could hazard a more gentle push? Yes, that was all right; mmm, lovely, softly-scented skin and a breath of sweat against his so’c... He brushed his lips against the irritated spot, felt Julian’s soft chuckle.

“Well, my dear doctor, I must say we’ve both learned rather quickly.”

“Mmm... we have done all right for ourselves, haven’t we?” A slow stretch of long limbs, pushing Julian back against him; he hummed to himself and let himself be pressed against. “Getting rather used to all these ridges, Elim...”

“I’m glad to hear it. You’ll be relieved to know that I’m becoming used to your anatomical curiosities as well.”

Amusement in his tone. “Such as?”

He paused, pretending to consider. “Hmm. I admit I’m becoming fond of that... unusual position.”

“What, me on top? Don’t Cardassians do that?”

“Not quite that way, my dear...” He let the thought sit, waited; felt Julian’s slight start of realization.

“Anatomically impossible?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Huh.” Julian’s voice was thoughtful. “I guess that’s so, isn’t it. Well, turnabout is fair play; getting used to your shape has been rather interesting.”

“ _My_ shape?”

“Upside-down, for starters... and rather girthy, Elim...” He was teasing, and Garak, delightfully sated, couldn’t have taken offense if he’d tried.

“I have been assured in the past that I am, in fact, rather well-shaped.”

“No accounting for tastes, I suppose...”

“Mmm, for which you should be thankful.”

“Oh, what does that mean?” Such a funny tone in his voice, almost an anticipatory wince. _You asked for it. Upside-down, indeed!_

“Well, my dear...” He let himself sigh. “You’d make a rather extravagant Cardassian...”

“Extravagant!” Oh, the offence!

“More than a mouthful is a waste, as the saying goes.”

“ _What_ saying?”

“A Cardassian saying, of course.”

“Never heard that one before...”

“Not really the sort of thing one mentions during a tasteful lunch, my dear.”

“We’ll have to start arranging less tasteful lunches, then.” And Julian turned his head, laughed back at Garak, kissed him. 

Oh – a slight tingle on his skin, not quite an itch, and he smiled against Julian’s mouth as he felt the first of his f’Irit drop from him. Ah, and another, another... A pity it was all an illusion. It was a rather nice idea to imagine the fruits of tonight’s happy labour being a little stand of f’Irit where they lay. _Not enough light, anyway._ But it was permitted to dream...

“Hey!” A flinch; one of the petals had slipped from his arm where it was draped over Julian’s chest, and had landed softly on Julian’s skin.

“Don’t worry, my dear...” He let his voice drift low, soothing. “It is quite sated, now... it has no more interest in biting you than I do...”

“Is that meant to reassure me, Elim?” Mild irritation in Julian’s voice, but also laughter; the Human relaxed back against him, scented top to toe with the musk of two species and warm, warm in his arms...

A few more minutes... surely there was nothing wrong with a few more minutes, stolen beneath a triad of moons in a stand of shading grupt’a on a beautiful world, feeling a heartbeat, tasting salt, listening to soft breath...?

_Perhaps one day I’ll truly bring you here, Julian..._

And that was exactly the sort of thought that would get him into trouble, and was clearly a signal for him to return to reality. He permitted himself one more kiss, placed brusquely behind Julian’s ear; Julian stirred against him drowsily.

“Where did we leave our shirts, my dear?”

A lazy wave of an arm. “Mmm... out there, somewhere...”

“Then we had better find them, don’t you think?”

Now a soft groan. “Must we...?”

“Doctor...”

And, finally, an irritated sigh. “Oh, very well... look, lazy man’s route, all right? Computer, end program—”

 _Zzzzt,_ and suddenly they were lying stark naked on the floor of one of Quark’s holosuites, their clothes piled loosely around them, and that was a surprisingly effective motivator for one to dress as quickly as possible. Even though his clothes were more complicated to manage, Garak was dressed before Julian was, and he watched in mild consternation as Julian wrestled with the ties of his tunic.

“Here, my dear, let me help you.” His own nimble fingers proved just as adept as fastening the shoulders as they had been at unfastening them; it was a pity, really, but Julian nodded thanks. “How did you ever manage this on your own, anyway?”

“It took a few tries.”

“I admire your dedication.”

“Oh, it was worth the effort, I think...” A slow smile, and his heart jumped in his chest; _oh, Elim, be careful..._ “Although it’s a bit of a shame to put it back on.” Julian plucked at the fabric, held it out from himself with mild distaste.

“Ah.” Sweat already dampened the tunic, darkening its fabric. “I see what you mean.” Indeed, his own clothes felt slightly moist; Julian’s sweat had left its traces on him, too. _And I have no complaints at all..._

Julian looked up and around him, his gaze encompassing Cardassia in her entirety. “This planet...” His sigh was just a touch put-upon, and Garak found it difficult to restrain his smile.

“You are the one who insisted on authenticity, my dear...”

“Hmm, speaking of that, Garak,” and Julian tilted his head, curiosity in his eyes, “I have noticed one small detail about Cardassia that seems at odds with what you’ve previously told me.”

 _Oh?_ “Do tell.”

“Well, it just seems strange that a place like this, with such abundant flora, should be so astoundingly devoid of insect life.” His eyes glinted. “Tell me – was there some kind of environmental incident? A suppression program, perhaps?”

Oh, dear. He was caught. _Clever man._ Well, that was one of the things he liked best about him, wasn’t it? Now, how best to say it...

“No.” Oh, cut off before he could say a word! “Don’t bother answering me, Garak. You’ll only fib about it, isn’t that right?” Julian was laughing at him _again,_ oh, delightful; he wanted to smile, to shout, to spread his arms wide, and instead he tilted his head.

 _“Fib,_ Doctor? Really?” He let his voice convey insulted disapproval. “Such an ugly little word. Is that really what you—”

“Noise, noise, noise; if you must do something with your mouth, do something useful,” and once again his mouth was caught by Julian’s, once again sharp teeth tugged at his lower lip, once again his eyes closed and he couldn’t help but hum.

When the kiss broke, Julian’s forehead rested against his; they breathed together for a moment. Julian’s hands found his own and their palms pressed together, fingers intertwining.

“And when shall we do this again, my dear?” Slight disinterest would be proper, but when Julian was this close, well, there was only so much one could feign.

“When would work for you?”

“Well, we’re already scheduled for lunch on Wednesday. I wouldn’t want you to tire of my company...?”

“Not likely, you idiot.” Another kiss, gentle, belying the harshness of the Human’s words.

“Very well, my dear... perhaps Tov’ren Park on Tuesday? The insects sing a particularly lovely song in late fall...”

“Ah, so there _are_ insects on Cardassia?” Smug. He ignored it, kissed him again.

Now a sigh against his mouth. “Do we always have to go to Cardassia, Garak?” Julian’s voice was low, slightly hesitant.

“Mmm? Would you rather go to Earth?” Cardassia was lovely, but he could admit that Julian might prefer something cooler for a change. _As long as it’s not under twenty-five Celsius._

“I’d... rather go to my quarters, actually.”

 _Oh!_ A twist within him, a sweetness – _calm yourself, Elim – don’t let him know—_

“Hmm. Not nearly as warm as Cardassia.”

“I’ll dial up the climate control.”

“Not very scenic.”

“I’ll tidy up.”

“Not very educational.”

“Oh, I think I could teach you rather a lot, actually...” And now a light kiss, the softest touch of lips against his own, and a soft sigh; it left him standing there paralyzed, eyes closed and mouth open, the taste lambent on his so’c, luscious on his tongue.

“I’ll... take that as a yes, shall I?” He felt Julian’s breath against his cheek, the puff of a laugh; somehow, he managed a nod.

“Thank you, my dear. It’s been a lovely evening.” An understatement, to be sure, but he did his best to imbue the sentence with all the meaning he could; carried in his voice, in his posture, in the pressure of his hands against Julian’s.

“It has, hasn’t it...?” Julian pulled back a little, looked at him; there was teasing mirth in his eyes. “Although I could have done without being eaten alive.”

“Is that so? I didn’t hear you complaining.”

 _“Garak.”_ A frown, and he kept his own expression calm, permitted no laughter at all. “You know what I mean.”

“Alas, my dear Doctor, I do. Please allow me to apologize once more for the behaviour of the f’Irit.” Garak bowed slightly, gestured to the holosuite door; Julian nodded, moved towards it.

“Seems so odd. You’d think the holodeck safeties would’ve kicked in, wouldn’t you? I mean, clearly I was having an adverse reaction...” The doors sighed open, let them pass through; they walked single-file down the narrow corridor.

“Ah. I may have... relaxed those safeties somewhat.”

A good thing Julian was ahead of him in the corridor; he saw the flinch in his back, and the younger man tossed him a very irritated look. “ _Garak.”_

“Authenticity, Doctor...!” Laughing, singing—

“I really can’t trust you at all, can I?”

“I do hope I’ve never given you any other impression.”

Julian smiled at him, rueful, exasperated, and again his heart leapt foolishly in his chest; oh, with his body wanting so very badly to give up all of its secrets to the doctor, how long could he keep anything hidden?

_And how long, Elim, before you stop pretending that you want to hide anything at all?_

Turmoil within him, composure without; he smiled back complacently and followed Julian down the stairs and back to reality.

* * *

_\--brad paisley, “ticks”_


End file.
